Oh Maurice...

When I was a kid- probably seven or eight- and recovering from an event of unspeakable horror, someone gave me a a copy of Dear Mili, a then newly discovered fairy tale written by Wilhelm Grimm which was printed alongside illustrations by Maurice Sendak. I hated it. I'm not completely sure why. It was a combination of things, I think. This particular copy of the book had (and still has) the most bizarre smell; the story itself comes to a terrible, tragic close (which shouldn't be surprising in a Grimm tale that hasn't been manhandled by modern editors to make it more palatable); most of all, the illustrations were strange to me- full of symbols I didn't recognize or understand, full of religious references that seemed out of place, printed in muted colors that were unappealing to me at the time, with faces that seemed too realistic almost for their stylized surroundings, and noses that were just...massive. Even though I hated that book, I looked at it often.

As time went on and I got older and left certain things behind, I still returned to Dear Mili periodically, to wonder why it had been given to me, to puzzle over the pictures. As time went on, I started to dislike the book for a different reason- for the connection it had to that singular event.

Now, for whatever reason (probably shared history more than anything else) it's incredibly precious to me. I love the story of a mother's sacrifice for her child's safety. I love it for the idea that, even in war and darkness, there's a place where children can be safe, where they can be protected by individuals who are profoundly interested in their welfare. I love it for those illustrations that bothered me so much when I was young- for the imperfect faces with their beautiful noses, for the richness of symbol and for the soft colors that, at an appropriate point in the story, shift into tropical vibrance. Despite its dark end, there's something deep and sweet in the idea that, no matter what we've passed through, we can come home again.

I'm grateful for Sendak's unflinching treatment of difficult, even dark themes. As few authors seem to these days, he respected children and believed firmly in their strength and resilience. "Parents shouldn’t assume children are made out of sugar candy and will break and collapse instantly. Kids don’t. We do." (from TIME Magazine, 1988/12/05). I'm grateful for the generosity with which he shared his monumental talent and trademark wit with the world.